Drostan Welm/"Osmund Griff" - Outside of Dalenham, Ethora
Drostan's eyes widened in surprise as Varian's two new recruits. When Varian had mentioned he'd found extra people, Drostan had figured he'd grabbed a couple of sturdy-looking millers bearing battered militia gear and in need of extra coin. Or else a couple of dumb, eager youths from the outlying farms, in the city looking for money for their families. Expendables, he'd figured. Extra muscle to bring along for the mission, pay well, and never think about again. Even if he'd been expecting something different, he could not have possibly come up with the "Orc and woman" combo. The woman, he supposed, wasn't all that surprising. In his years as an Ethoran noble, Drostan could count on one hand the number of time he'd ever seen a woman fight, but since becoming a mercenary he realized that the exclusion of women from combat was largely a classist one. Among regular people, women taking up arms seemed to be much less rare, even common. No, it was the Orc that really threw him off. It was strange, that he'd just been thinking about the possibility of orc civility, and here was one now that seemed, or acted, perfectly personable.
Neither introduced themselves and even though Drostan figured that was probably proper, given the situation, his upbringing made it hard to not feel impolite about not introducing himself. He tried to keep it business-like, and with the low, tired quality his voice had by default, the effect was somewhere between boredom and disinterest.
"Osmund. Osmund Griff." He figured he didn't need to clarify that it was his name since most people weren't in the habit of greeting strangers with other people's names.
When the merchant and Varian had both finished talking, Drostan found himself a little concerned, and that concern put an edge in his voice.
"Twenty?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. He was aware that the merchant had said there could be as many as thirty, but the lower figure was worrisome enough. "Twenty men in a fortified position? Is there more than one entrance? Because if there's only one gate and we charge it..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "If they've got even one good archer, one or two of us are down before we ever get to the gates. And then they could choke us off at the gate, if it's narrow enough." He frowned. He didn't like this. At all. But if the merchant intended to have them killed at this fort, why pay them so much in advance? Was the man stupid? Or was Drostan simply overestimating how difficult this would be?
His frown deepened.